


i’ll be your historian and you’ll be mine

by sickoflosiingsoulmates



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Road Trips, martin dealing with the effects of the Lonely, nothing bad will ever happen to them :), post 159
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickoflosiingsoulmates/pseuds/sickoflosiingsoulmates
Summary: They leave for Scotland early the day after Jon saves Martin from the Lonely.[or, Jon and Martin’s drive to the Daisy’s safe house]
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111





	i’ll be your historian and you’ll be mine

**Author's Note:**

> firstly, huge thanks to sav (grasslandgirl both here & tumblr) for beta’ing!!  
> second, title is from historians by lucy dacus  
> wanted to post this before season five inevitably absolutely breaks my heart lmao enjoy!

They leave for Scotland early the day after Jon saves Martin from the Lonely.

Basira had come around the night before to drop off the keys to Daisy’s safehouse, eyes red rimmed. Martin had wanted to reach out and console her, do what he does best, but he still felt too raw from the Lonely to be able to take on someone else’s pain. Jon, though, had given her a hug, which had surprised Martin. He had known that he’d been isolated from the rest of the office for the better part of the year, but it was another thing to see the proof of everything that had happened while he’d been gone. He didn’t know how to feel about it. Still doesn’t, to be honest.

Anyway. They left Martin’s flat in Daisy’s car (“It’s not like she’s gonna need it,” Basira had said with a bitter laugh) just after sunrise, both with travel mugs of tea. Jon had made it, continuing his streak of surprising Martin. Martin had to sneak in some honey when Jon wasn’t looking, but the gesture was sweet, and one Martin refused to let himself analyze any further. Jon had turned on some radio station playing 80s songs at a low volume as he took the first driving shift, and then they were on the road.

Martin spent the first hour of the drive with his head pressed against the window, dozing in and out of sleep. He hadn’t slept too well the night before, between the nightmares and the fact that he was on his couch while Jon took his bed, wanting more than anything for Jon to comfort him but unsure how to ask. Still, he was too embarrassed, too used to closing himself off, unable to quite shake the Lonely. In the end, he’d just sat up against the door to his room, listening to Jon’s faint snores until he felt reassured that Jon wasn’t leaving. He knew it was pathetic, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do anything else.

When he fully comes back to consciousness they’re out of London, and Jon is humming along to the radio. The latter is the more intriguing detail, so it’s what Martin focuses on. He’s never seen Jon with his guard down as much as he has in the last twenty four hours, and this particular scene feels incredibly domestic. He tells himself that it’s nothing, that Jon’s only doing it because he thinks Martin’s still asleep, but it doesn’t stop his heart from fluttering.

He’s found out when Jon glances over him and sees Martin staring back, letting out a soft, “Oh,” and clearing his throat, a blush splotching his cheeks pink. “Good morning, Martin.”

Martin breathes out a laugh, still a bit shocked about everything that’s happened to lead to this, himself and Jon sitting in a car on their way to the _Scottish countryside_ , for Christ’s sake. “Morning, Jon,” he replies, and doesn’t miss the small smile that overtakes Jon’s face.

There’s silence for a few moments, the only sound the whirring of Daisy’s car and the soft sounds of the radio (which he thinks Jon had turned down while he slept, which he’s _not analyzing_ ), until Jon says, “I was thinking we could get breakfast soon?” It’s not a question, but he phrases it like one anyway, clearly caring about Martin’s answer. Martin responds in the affirmative, and Jon soon turns off of the freeway.

They stop at a small diner, a place that looks as though it hasn’t been updated since the 70s, from the checkered walls to the circular bar stools to the jukebox tucked neatly away in the corner. _A perfect spot for a date_ , Martin’s brain supplies him unhelpfully, and he ignores it as he and Jon slide into a booth.

The thing is, Martin knows exactly what he said to Jon in the Lonely, and knows exactly what Jon risked by going there in the first place, knows what Jon had said to Martin to get him to leave. It’s just - a part of his brain is telling him that it means something, that it’s significant in some way, while another part is telling him that’s it’s just what Jon would do - did do, for Melanie, for Daisy - and that anything he said to Martin didn’t have any deeper meaning.

He doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to be humiliated and make the rest of - however long they’re staying in Scotland awkward - so he doesn’t say anything. He tells himself that if Jon truly meant what Martin hopes he meant, that Jon would’ve said something, and he hasn’t, so it didn’t. End of story.

(Except it’s not, really, because there’s still Martin’s feelings to deal with, and the fact that Jon killed Peter Lukas, and the fact that Jon was able to get them both to leave, an impossible feat. Whatever. Martin’s trying not to think about it. They have bigger things to worry about.)

When their waitress comes by, a woman with glasses and silvery white hair pulled back in a tight bun, Martin orders a stack of pancakes, and Jon gets a tea. When Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon as their waitress leaves, Jon seems embarrassed. “I- ah, don’t really need to eat much, anymore. Not food, at least.” Martin understands immediately, nodding once and dropping the subject.

Silence blankets the space between the two of them, both comfortable and oppressive at once. He wants to reach out, to say something, but he can’t quite find the words. He supposes self-isolating for the majority of a year would do that.

Mostly, he aches for the intimacy of when they left the Lonely. Jon had taken hold of Martin’s hand, clutching it tight until well after they reached Martin’s flat, seemingly without a second thought. It was nice. Grounding. Made Martin feel more present, something he’s been sorely lacking in recently.

He wants that back. Now that things have settled (as much as they’re going to, he supposes), it’s been a bit awkward between them. Not bad - never bad, if Jon’s there, he can’t help but think - but filled with a new - tension, he supposes. A bridge neither of them quite know how to cross.

Jon’s tea arrives, and then Martin’s food, and the silence becomes much more natural, though some of the tension still lingers. They finish up quick, both anxious to be on the road again. They pay quickly enough, and Jon asks, “Ready?”

Martin nods, clearing his throat. “I can drive the next leg,” he offers, and Jon hands him the keys.

Once again, they settle into silence once they’re in the car. Out of the corner of his eye, Martin can see Jon fiddling around on his phone for a few moments before putting it away with a resolute sigh, turning to stare out the window.

The first portion of the drive is boring enough, whatever radio station Jon turned on early still faintly playing. He wishes Jon would say something, but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen anytime soon. It’s fine. He’s fine.

Except, the radio starts cutting out about an hour into the drive, leaving him in complete silence. The skies around him darken, and it begins to rain, not heavy, but enough. His hands grip tighter on the steering wheel, breaths shortening, a roaring in his ears which sounds suspiciously familiar to the crashing of waves. He’s not sure how he’s still driving, to be honest. He feels like he’s spinning out a bit, unable to tell if he’s overreacting or if the Lonely’s actually _here_ , because of course he wouldn’t be able to escape that easily, how _stupid_ he was-

“Martin,” Jon says, softly, reaching a hand out to rest it atop one of Martin’s. Martin’s breathing stutters as he comes back to himself, heart in his throat. 

“Sorry,” he chokes out, sounding wrecked, even to his own ears. _Stupid_ , he thinks.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Jon says softly, gently, as if afraid to make any sudden noise (and isn’t that bloody perfect, Jon having tread lightly around _him_ ). “But maybe you should pull over, and we can switch?”

Martin nods, a bizarre mix of intense fear and equally intense self hatred sitting low in his gut. He pulls over easily enough, far enough from any major cities that the traffic isn’t all that bad, considering. Martin leans over to undo his seatbelt, but Jon’s hand is still covering his own. He chances a look up at Jon, intending to ask him to move.

The look on his face makes Martin still. He looks - concerned, yes, and a bit pitying, which he doesn’t appreciate, but more than that, he looks like he _cares_. It’s not necessarily a new thing for Jon - obviously he cares, or else Martin would still be in the Lonely (which he is currently _not thinking about_ , thank you very much) - but it’s so intense, and all of it is channeled towards making sure _Martin’s_ okay.

“You alright?” Jon asks, voice still soft. Martin swallows thickly, unsure exactly what to do next. He settles for nodding again, and Jon seems to think that’s good enough, because he takes his hand away from Martin’s, reaching for his door.

They switch, Martin retaking residence in the passenger’s seat. Jon starts the car back up, pulling back onto the road. He reaches for the radio, but Martin, before he can properly think through it, blurts out, “Could we - just talk, for a bit? I just, I-I don’t think I should be, erm, alone with my thoughts right now.” He trails off a bit at the end, unsure of himself.

“Oh,” Jon replies, doing nothing to calm Martin’s nerves. He pauses for a moment, and Martin clears his throat, anxiety pooling in his gut. Jon startles, saying, “Right. I-I mean, of course, I just - what do you want to talk about?”

“Oh!” Martin says, a bit shocked that Jon agreed, though he’s not quite sure why. Something about old habits dying hard, he supposes. “Erm, whatever, I suppose? I don’t know, really. What’s been going on, in-in your life. I’ve been a little, _preoccupied_.” He bites out the last bit a tad too sharply, a sour feeling clawing its way up his throat.

Jon gives a short laugh, though there’s no humor behind it. “I’m afraid there’s not that much good news there. My life’s been pretty bleak, recently.”

“That’s okay,” Martin shoots back, no hesitation. “The bad’s just as worth knowing as the good.”

He’s not sure where the confidence comes from to say that, especially after his whole - ordeal, just a few minutes ago. But he can see Jon smile, just a bit, but it’s enough for a pleasant warmth to run through Martin’s veins.

“Well, then,” Jon says, voice a little tight, but Martin can tell it’s not a bad thing. “I guess there’s a lot to catch you up on.”

He runs through the past few months, and Martin quickly learns that Jon wasn’t lying about how shit things have been going. Martin knew about some of it, of course, but only in the barest sense, so it’s entirely different to hear about Jon’s experience in the Buried, of losing two ribs to do so. Of having to cut the bullet out of Melanie’s skin, their fractured relationship since then. His and Basira’s trip to Ny-Ålesund to stop the Dark’s ritual.

(He’s particularly pleased to learn about Georgie and Melanie’s relationship. Makes him hopeful, despite everything.)

Once Jon begins to trail off, having fully caught Martin up on everything, Martin’s feeling exponentially better. Still not perfect (he doubts he’ll ever truly be, in all honesty), but he doesn’t feel like he could spin out at any moment, so he takes it as a win.

However, Jon finishing his stories also means he attempts to turn the conversation on Martin. “Erm, what about you? Are you feeling better?” Jon asks, eyes darting away from the road to focus on Martin for a moment before flicking back.

“Yeah, I am, thanks,” Martin says, trying to curb the guilt that sinks in his stomach. “Erm, I think I’m alright to drive again, if you want to stop somewhere.” He doesn’t want to drive again, really, is kind of nervous about it, but he feels worse about having Jon drive for this last stretch when it should’ve been his anyway.

“You sure?” Jon asks, and Martin hates the tone Jon’s taken, all too full of caution, as if afraid to upset Martin further. It’s not rational, he knows; Jon’s just trying to make sure he’s okay, a perfectly reasonable action after the past twenty-four hours (really, the past few months). Still. He’s not used to being - _cared for_ , in this way. Doesn't feel like he deserves it.

“I’m sure, Jon,” he replies, huffing a laugh that ends up falling flat. Jon’s eyes dart over to Martin again, and Martin can see the concern, but thankfully, he drops it.

He pulls over at the next petrol station, and Jon stays to fill up the tank while Martin goes to grab snacks.

Once inside, Martin debates between snacks, not actually sure which ones Jon prefers. Suddenly, in the middle of this _fucking_ 7/11, he’s struck by just how little he actually _knows_ Jon. He’d heard Peter say it, in the Lonely, but he’d been so out of it already that it hardly registered.

He’s currently in a town he’s never been to with a man he barely knows, who had _hated_ him until a year ago, who _saved_ him from the Lonely, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. A lifetime ago, he would’ve complained to Tim about it over drinks, or to Sasha on the way to the break room. He aches for the both of them tremendously, aches for when everything wasn’t so messy, didn’t hurt so bad.

He forces himself to shake out of it, telling himself that no, he may not know Jon that well, but he knows enough. He knows that he loves Jon, and that Jon - _cares_ about him, though whether or not that feeling goes any deeper, he’s too afraid to ask.

Besides, they’re not even halfway done with their drive to Scotland, where they’ll be staying for who knows how long. That’s plenty of time.

_Christ_ , he’s more of a mess than he thought.

Martin takes a few more deep breaths before grabbing a bag of Doritos for them to share and heading to the register. Once they’re paid for, he heads back out to the car.

Jon’s sitting in the passenger seat when he gets back, so Martin doesn’t notice that Jon’s wearing one of his sweaters until he’s sat down, laying the bag of Doritos between them. “Is that my sweater?” Martin blurts out, more out of pure shock than anything else.

Jon flushes, turning his head to look out the window. “Well, it’s colder here than London, and it was in the backseat already, so…” he trails off, and Martin bites back a grin. It’s a shift from how he was feeling just a few minutes ago, but one he readily welcomes.

“I’m not mad, just observing,” he says lightly as he pulls back onto the road. Silence sits between them for a moment, but it’s nothing as intense as it had felt before.

Even still, Jon’s quick to fill the silence. “So, Martin, we talked a lot about me and not much about you,” he says, and Martin’s stomach drops.

“What, do you want to hear about my time with Peter Lukas?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but he can see Jon wince out of the corner of his eye, so it must not have worked very well.

“Erm, no. Un-unless you want to talk about it?” Martin shakes his head _no_ , and Jon continues. “Well, what about your time before joining the Institute? Did you have any awful teenage jobs?”

“Obviously,” Martin snorts. “I had to, ah, support my mother, so I had quite the array of bizarre, horrible jobs.” _Don’t make this sad_ , he firmly tells himself, because he can feel Jon tensing beside him at the mention of his mother, and that’s the opposite of what he wants. “Erm, I worked at an ice cream parlour, for a few months? Which doesn’t seem that bad, but it was during the summer, so it was always packed. God, the amount of assholes claiming I’d cheated them out of five quid.” He laughs, Jon joining in, which makes Martin’s chest swell.

He goes through his resume, Jon joining in with some stories of his own. Martin _cackles_ when he finds out Jon was in a band in college, making him promise to try to find some videos that they can watch later.

The air inside the car feels much lighter than earlier, and Martin realizes he’s legitimately _happy_ for the first time in a long time. It feels - nice. He’d forgotten what it feels like, to just be able to talk to someone about something that didn’t feel so heavy, that didn’t hurt. Especially with Jon. He hates that they had to go through so much to get to this point, but it almost feels worth it, to be able to be here at all.

They decide to stop for lunch, finding a small sandwich shop to eat at.

Martin’s a bit worried that lunch is going to go much like breakfast, with awkward, stilted conversation, if they talk at all, but he’s pleasantly surprised to find that he’s wrong, that the easy conversation they’d had in the car carries over to lunch. Jon even eats something (the smallest sandwich they have on the menu, sure, but it’s still something), and Martin, at least, has an extremely good time.

His mood begins to fall, however, once they get back on the road, Jon behind the wheel. He’s not sure quite what did it, if anything did it at all, but he begins to feel awful again, like his brain’s filling with cotton. Everything feels muted and dull, and he can’t quite fathom how he was able to feel so _happy_ earlier, when this is how he feels now.

It doesn’t help that Jon’s seemingly oblivious to Martin’s rotten mood. He’s already been feeling quite unsure where he stands with Jon, and this definitely doesn’t help.

_He can’t know what’s wrong if you don’t tell him_ , the rational part of his brain argues, but he brushes it off.

He spends much of the next stretch of the drive staring out the window, stewing in his rotten mood. He thinks that Jon glances over at him periodically, but he doesn’t bother to check. _Why would he bother_ , Martin’s brain supplies him, and his stomach churns.

That’s the question, isn’t it? He spent so long hating Martin, or at the very least apathetic towards him. And now, what? Jon likes him, enough at least to get him out of the Lonely. But _why_? It’s not like Martin’s been particularly _pleasant_ to him, recently. What could have possibly changed for him, then, to be _nice_ to Martin now?

It must be pity, is what Martin decides on. Jon pities him because Martin was _stupid_ enough to join Peter Lukas, to get stuck in the Lonely. _Silly Martin, gone and put himself in danger again._ It has to be. The idea that Jon’s opinion of Martin would’ve changed- that couldn’t be it. Obviously not.

Martin’s not the kind of person people care about simply because they decide he’s worth caring about. There’s always some - underlying desire, or something. It’s never just _him_.

Martin’s so stuck in his own head that he hardly notices when Jon pulls over. He glances at the clock, and realizes that two and a half hours have passed. _Jesus_.

Wordlessly, they head into the convenience store, both heading for the snack aisle. As it so happens, they reach for a bag of crisps at the same time, fingers brushing together. Martin snatches his hand back quickly, glancing away from Jon. He can feel Jon’s eyes on the back of his head, burning a hole into his skull.

“Martin,” Jon says, and Martin resolutely doesn’t look at him. “What’s wrong?”

He sounds gentle, too gentle. Martin doesn’t deserve it. “Nothing,” he says, trying for nonchalant, but it comes out too sharp.

“Martin,” Jon repeats, less patiently. _Finally_ , Martin thinks. “Please, talk to me.”

“Jon, I’m fine,” he insists, internally pleading that Jon drops it.

Of course, nothing can ever be that easy for Jon. “Please,” Jon says, and he sounds so _sad_ , and Martin can’t handle it.

He turns to face Jon. “What, Jon? What do _you_ think is wrong?”

Jon looks stricken. Martin knows that he’s talking too loud, that the bored-looking cashier can almost definitely hear him, but he just can’t bring himself to _care_. He continues. “Is it the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago I was in the Lonely? Is it the fact that all of my friends are _dead_ , and I never truly got the chance to grieve them? Is it the fact that I still don’t know why you’re even _here_?”

“Because I care about you,” Jon responds immediately, his voice so small. Martin’s heart breaks a bit, but his brain still isn’t satisfied.

“Do you? Do you _really_? Because last I checked, you _hated_ me. Couldn’t stand to be around me. And,” he huffs a laugh, “I haven’t exactly done anything the last few months to make you like me, have I?”

“That wasn’t you,” Jon protests, but Martin’s already shaking his head before he finishes speaking.

“It was, Jon. Sure, I was - working for Peter, but it was still _me_. I still did that. And I don’t know what - what kind of _pity_ you have for me, now, whatever you did to get me out of the Lonely, but -”

“Martin,” Jon says, and the forcefulness behind it makes Martin stop in his tracks. “I love you.”

“What?” Martin says, shock tingeing his voice. That can’t be - that’s not right. He didn’t hear Jon right.

“I love you,” he repeats, softer, and for once Martin doesn’t hate the gentleness in his voice. “And - and I’m sorry, truly, for how I treated you at the beginning. You did nothing to deserve it. And, you don’t have to do anything with that, it’s alright if your feelings have changed, or -”

“Jon,” Martin breathes out, almost unconsciously. He doesn’t feel as bad anymore, the dark mood lifted by something lighter. It’s nice. Martin could get used to it. “I love you, too. Never stopped loving you.”

Jon steps closer to him, just a bit, a quiet “Oh,” escaping his lips. He’s not sure who moves first, but Jon gets on tiptoes, Martin ducking just a bit so that they can kiss.

Martin’s imagined kissing Jon so much, but he never could’ve imagined it’d be like _this_. Sure, they’re still in the crisps aisle of a dingy convenience store, and he knows he’s out of practice, assumes the same for Jon, but still. It’s perfect. Martin’s hands wrap around Jon’s neck, and one of Jon’s clutches his forearm, the other on his cheek.

It doesn’t last long, because Martin, at least, is perfectly aware of the fact that they are, in fact, still in public, and that there are only a few aisles separating them and the cashier. When he pulls away, Jon has a smile on his face that Martin is sure is mirrored on his own.

Jon slides the hand on Martin’s cheek down to grab at one of Martin’s hands, which he’s moved off of Jon’s neck. They stare at each other for a moment longer before Jon clears his throat and turns away, grabbing two bags of crisps and leading Martin to the cashier.

Martin resolutely does not make eye contact as the cashier scans their crisps, a bit embarrassed at his outburst and subsequent love confession. 

They head back out to the car, hands still entwined. It’s awfully reminiscent of when Jon had led him out of the Lonely, and Martin mentally kicks himself for not realizing sooner what that had meant.

As if sensing Martin’s thoughts, Jon squeezes his hand once, quickly, before handing him the keys, unlinking their hands to go to the passengers’ seat.

Martin thinks that that’s the end of it, but he’s pleasantly surprised to find that he’s mistaken when, after he’s pulled back on to the motorway, Jon reaches across the gap to grab Martin’s hand again.

They talk for a bit, at first, quiet conversation tossed across the center console as Martin drives. The conversation eventually drifts off naturally, filling the car with silence once more. It’s not overwhelming like the other times, though, and Martin thinks it has something to do with the way Jon is still clutching his hand.

_An anchor_ , his brain supplies, and the thought warms his chest.

There’s a discussion of dinner, but they decide to go to a supermarket in the town closest to Daisy’s house, since neither of them have a desire to leave once they’re there. They go in together, trying to make it as quick as possible, only grabbing the stuff they think they’ll need in the immediate future.

They don’t hold hands, but Martin, at least, is having trouble keeping his eyes off of Jon, and he assumes Jon’s pretty much the same considering the amount of times Martin glances at Jon just to find him staring back.

They leave with a few bags of groceries, loading the backseat before getting back in the car. Martin drives the rest of the way, the darkening roads around him making it a bit difficult to navigate, but soon enough, they find their way driving up the winding path to Daisy’s safe house.

It’s small, which Martin expected, and made of wood, which he also expected. It doesn’t appear that there’s anything lurking in the shadows, but knowing Daisy, there’s almost certainly an arsenal of weapons hiding both inside and outside the house.

Still, it’s nice enough, a place to stay away from all the dangers of their lives. Martin thinks he could get used to it.

He pulls the car into park, each of them grabbing some shopping bags and shouldering their own luggage as they exit. Martin takes a bit longer to grab his things, and finds Jon waiting in front of the car for him, left arm outstretched.

Hands entwined, Jon opens the door.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ stcviebudd on tumblr!


End file.
